


Make It Real

by RiverWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Facebook: Strictly Dramione, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Illnesses, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverWriter/pseuds/RiverWriter
Summary: They were just pretending. And then they got stuck together. What now?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 51
Kudos: 717
Collections: Strictly Dramione Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange Fest





	Make It Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaeOrabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeOrabel/gifts).



> This fic was written as part of the Strictly Dramione Valentine's Day Fic Exchange Fest. My prompt was: "Are you insane?" "Yes." FaeOrabel, I went with your desired trope of fake dating, but this kind of took on a life of its own. However, I hope you enjoy it! I really had fun writing this and I thank you so much for the idea! xoxo

“Are you insane?!”

“Yes,” Malfoy sighed and raked a hand down his face. “Probably. Maybe.” He sighed again. “Desperate, Granger, I’m desperate.”

“Just so we’re clear, you want us to pretend to date to keep your parents from selling you off on the marriage market like it’s the eighteenth century or something?”

“Court, I want us to pretend to court. Purebloods don’t date,” he sneered.

“That’s the part of that statement he finds objectionable,” she murmured under her breath. “Keep saying things like that, Malfoy, see how far it gets you with me,” she said out loud.

When they’d returned to Hogwarts following the Yule holidays and he’d approached her after dinner asking to speak with her privately, she never would have guessed that this was what he wanted. She’d thought maybe he needed a study partner or something, and even that seemed far fetched. The war may have been over, but they were not friends, they hadn’t even really graduated to polite acquaintances. Hermione had considered it a victory that they were no longer actively trying to kill each other.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that, just that I have standards and despite your origins I would-”

“Okay, that’s it, this conversation is over,” she hopped up off of her bed and moved towards the door to usher him out, but he snagged her by the wrist.

“Ugh,” he growled, clearly frustrated, “I’m sorry. Again. I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“Which is why this would never work! You can’t go more than thirty seconds without reminding me that you think I’m beneath you, and I can’t go more than fifteen without wanting to strangle you!”

“Granger, please, did I mention that I’m desperate? At least hear me out.”

Hermione sighed and turned to face him, shaking his hand off as she did. Both his voice and his eyes were pleading and she found herself intrigued despite herself. She wondered if he’d ever begged for anything in his life and also what he possibly could have been thinking coming to her with this.

“Fine,” she sighed and went back to her bed, perching on the corner of the mattress. “But get on with it, I’m tired.”

“First of all,” he made his way over and sat in front of her, “I think we could absolutely pull this off. We’re both smart and resourceful, and we’ve done much more difficult things.”

He raised a hand to cup her face and began tracing her cheek with the pad of his thumb, and whether it was due to shock over his actions or his words, she made no move to stop him.

“I know we’ve never gotten along.”

She snorted and he smirked.

“Okay we hated each other,” he conceded. “I still don’t understand the world that you come from, but I didn’t approach you on a whim. I find you beautiful and intriguing, please Hermione, be my fake girlfriend?” His eyes fell to her lips and he leaned in, just until their noses brushed and she found herself tilting her chin to accept him when he suddenly dropped his hand and pulled away. “I told you.” He grinned at her.

It was the most endearing expression she’d ever seen on his face. He was stupidly beautiful when he didn’t look like he’d just sucked a lemon, and she couldn’t even be mad that she’d been completely taken in by his little act.

Point to Malfoy.

“Fine, okay, so you can act. And apparently you aren’t repulsed by me.”

“And you aren’t repulsed by me, quite the opposite I’d say,” he continued to grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you know you’re attractive, you don’t need me to tell you.”

He winked at her. “I wasn’t lying. I do think you’re beautiful, otherwise I never would have considered you.”

“Wow,” she breathed, “you literally cannot go a full five minutes without acting like a total prat.”

“What did I say?” He appeared totally clueless.

She rolled her eyes again. “Nevermind, I seriously doubt there’s anything to be done about it. Anyway, this seems like an awful lot of trouble, why don’t you just tell your parents that you don’t want to get married?”

He literally waved her off. “That’s just not done.”

“But it’s okay for you to court Harry Potter’s muggle born best friend?”

“Once we’ve gone public they can’t really object, do you know how that would look?” He shrugged. “Not to mention that all the matches Father is considering are from neutral families, he’s trying to rebuild the family name. Can’t do much better than a war heroine.”

“Ahhhh, so now we get to the real reason.”

“It’s one of many. I’m not attempting to hide my motivations, Granger.”

“Okay, say I agreed. We can’t keep it up forever, I’m not willing to put my life on hold indefinitely to keep you from being sold off like a prized calf. You’ll just be in the same position in a few weeks or months.”

“I’m buying time to figure something else out.”

“And why would I agree to this? Don’t insult me by offering me money, I neither want nor need it.”

“I would never be so crass.”

“What then?”

“Several things. First, this,” he gestured between them, “even for a little while, would do a lot for the reconciliation of our world and I know that’s important to you.”

“Even though it’s a lie.”

He shrugged. “Nobody ever needs to know that, but even if they did somehow find out, just us being able to work peaceably together says a lot.”

Another point to Malfoy.

“Second there’s the Weasel.”

Hermione sighed. “What about Ron?”

“You and me together would drive him up the wall.”

“And why would I want that? He’s my friend.”

“You can tell the Daily Prophet whatever you want, but you aren’t fooling me. He broke up with you so that he was free to chase anything with half-way decent tits- which yours are more than, by the way-” he said, his eyes dropping to her breasts with a smirk, “all over this country. He’s a fool, but that’s still got to sting. This is a chance for you to take some of your own back.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, though she couldn’t decide if she was flattered or offended, and bit her lip to keep from retorting, because a small (okay, maybe not so small) part of her found the idea very appealing. She had moved past waiting for Ron to grow up, and was officially fed up with him making her feel like a fool, which she did every time he showed up in the paper with one of those...women.

Seeing her on Malfoy’s arm would be a major blow to his ego and she was petty enough to know she’d enjoy that.

“Your thoughts are written all over your face Granger, but I’ll be gentleman enough not to comment.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“And finally,” he began with a look on his face that told her he was about to reveal his trump card. “Access to the Malfoy and Black family libraries. Also, my family has a standing invitation to the Library of Alexandria, I can get you in at any time, and for as long as you please.”

The word left her mouth before she could even really process it: “Deal.”

* * *

He was waiting outside of her room to walk her to breakfast the next morning.

“Good morning,” he greeted and extended a hand towards her.

She just blinked at him. Did he expect her to take it?

“Your bag, Granger,” he prompted when she continued to just stare at him. “You don’t expect me to make you carry your own things, do you? Actually, given those two oafs you usually hang around with, you probably do.”

“I knew this was a mistake,” she huffed and started to walk off.

“Shite,” she heard him mutter and then his hand was on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s practically a reflex for me to call them names.”

She spun and glared up at him. “Are you expecting me to just let it go when you slip up and call me a mudblood?”

“No.”

“Because I won’t put up with that Malfoy.”

“No, I mean I don’t expect you to let it go because I won’t be calling you that.”

“It’s not a reflex?”

“No. Every time I said that I did it with the intent to cause pain. But I no longer have any desire to hurt you, or anybody else, for that matter. And I don’t think like that anymore either.”

“Really, just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“No, of course it wasn’t just like that. Fuck,” he whispered and licked his lips. “Listen, I’ve actually been trying to find a way to tell you...to apologize…I’m not a Gryffindor, Granger, I didn’t know how to approach you.”

“And yet you had no problem doing so when you needed something.”

He shrugged and gave her a smile, but it was brittle. “It seems not.”

She studied his face. “Okay then.”

“Okay?”

“I find it oddly reassuring that you would admit to being a self-serving git, it’s true to character.”

He scoffed but ignored the insult. “Can I take your bag now?”

“Thank you.” She handed it over and tried not to think too hard about it when he draped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t you think people will find it suspicious that we’re suddenly so chummy?”

“Ah, I thought of that. A good portion of the school saw me approach you in the Great Hall, and at least a handful of people saw us go into your room together last night. So I think the obvious explanation is that we actually got together before Yule but were keeping it quiet. However, we missed each other so much that we just can’t stand to hide anymore,” he raised his free hand to his chest dramatically. “I’ll write my parents later to let them know.”

Hermione cringed at the thought of the letter she would need to write Harry lest he hear about this from another source and attempt to storm the castle looking to put Malfoy’s head on a platter.

They approached the Great Hall and he stopped her just outside the entrance to hand her back her bag. “I’ll come get you when I’m done and we can walk to class together.”

“You’re going to come to the Gryffindor table?”

“Of course I am, I thought we established this. I’m a gentleman, I’m going to escort you to class.” He leaned in and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. “Have a good breakfast,” he mumbled against her skin.

There was a loud bang and Hermione nearly startled out of his arms. She looked around to see a fifth year Ravenclaw who had run smack into the doors of the Hall while distracted by their display.

“I see we’ve already made an impression,” Malfoy chuckled, he gave her hand a squeeze and walked into the Hall.

When he appeared, as promised, at the Gryffindor table near the end of breakfast the entire room went silent, but when he realized that she wasn’t finished, he squeezed onto the bench next to her and it erupted. He ignored it and, in an act of surprising intimacy, he snatched a piece of toast right out of her hand and finished it off.

“Hey!” She objected automatically, “that was mine! You already ate!”

“Sorry, love,” he winked, “but it just looked too delicious.” And with that he took another piece of toast from the rack, slathered it in jam and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she responded quietly, though, given the hundreds of sets of eyes she could practically feel staring at her, she was certain she’d lost her appetite.

“Uh, Hermione,” said Ginny, who was sitting across the table. “Would you like to tell us what’s going on?”

Malfoy nudged her. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Well, I was trying to figure out how,” Hermione answered. It was beginning to sink in that she hadn’t thought any of this through and she had a sneaking suspicion that Malfoy knew that and was seizing the opportunity before she could change her mind and renege on their deal.

“Seems pretty simple to me,” he looked at Ginny, “we’re courting.”

Ginny stared at him, looked back and forth between them, and then dropped her teacup.

* * *

Hermione had considered that the news of her and Malfoy as a couple might anger her friends and his parents, but the reaction of the other witches in the castle hadn’t even crossed her mind. But once she witnessed them, she understood why Malfoy had insisted on using the term ‘courting.’ Courtship was a big deal in pureblood circles, it meant that he was serious about her, that he was looking towards marriage. It told other witches that he was unavailable and it would have been the height of bad manners for them to attempt to approach him with romantic intentions, which is exactly what he wanted.

Hermione had understood what courting meant, but what she hadn’t realized was how highly sought after Malfoy still was following the war. Apparently in the face of his wealth, title, and good looks many witches were happy to overlook that mark on his arm, and had even assumed it would be easier to snag him because of it. They were not pleased that Hermione had taken him off the market and were not subtle about expressing their displeasure. They could have found plenty of ways to make her life very unpleasant. But to give Malfoy credit, he had considered it, and he stuck very close to her to keep her from getting harassed, which had the added benefit of keeping her newly acquired fans away as well.

It took her less than a week to not just get used to Malfoy- Draco’s- attentions, but to come to expect them. And less than two weeks for her to admit to herself that she enjoyed his company. Not that she needed anybody to carry her books, or walk with her to class, or make sure that she took appropriate study breaks and ate. But it was nice to be considered in such a way.

There was the added benefit that he was a good conversationalist. There were certainly things they avoided talking about- anything to do with the war or their pasts- Hermione recognized that it would have been a completely unhealthy way to begin a relationship, if it had been real. But since it wasn’t, she didn’t worry about it. It was easy to pretend he was just her new friend whose company she enjoyed.

So when he wasn’t waiting to walk her to breakfast one morning just over two weeks into their “relationship,” at first she was annoyed, but that quickly turned to concern because he’d proven himself to be nothing, if not reliable. She made her way down the corridor and knocked on his door.

“Draco!” She shouted. She still called him ‘Malfoy’ in her head, but she was very conscientious about using his given name out loud. She waited, but got no response. She tried several more times but still nothing. She tested his wards. They were even more robust than her own and while she was certain she could break them given time, she was getting worried that he might be in real trouble.

She was debating whether she should go for help or start in on the wards when the door flew open. Her jaw dropped. Malfoy stood in the doorway, swaying on his feet. He was dressed only in a pair of boxers yet he was drenched in sweat. His eyes were bleary, but most alarming of all, he was covered in green boils.

Hermione knew exactly what she was looking at: dragon pox. Except, that also didn’t make any sense because dragon pox was a disease that affected the very old, very young, and the infirm; as far as she knew it was basically unheard of for a wizard in his prime like Malfoy to contract it. Not to mention, it had been just over eight hours since they parted ways. She’d spent the entire evening with him and he’d been exhibiting no symptoms; surely it didn’t usually come on so quickly.

“Granger,” he slurred in greeting, then he stumbled back to his bed without waiting for a response.

“Merlin,” she gasped, he sounded as bad as he looked. She made her way into the room and looked around for a robe or something else to cover him, she didn’t think he’d appreciate being paraded around Hogwarts in only his underwear. She found one strewn over his desk chair and approached the bed, holding it out to him. “Draco,” she said gently, “you’re sick, we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Don’t feel good. Everything hurts H’minee.”

She smoothed his hair away from his face in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry. But that’s why we need to get you to a mediwitch.”

To this she got no response. She sighed, there was no way she could physically force him out of bed, much less all the way to the infirmary, and she wasn’t sure if it was safe to levitate him.

“Okay, you stay here and I’ll go get her.”

She turned to leave but he grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly strong hold given the state he seemed to be in. “Don’t leave me.”

“Draco-”

The second syllable of his name was barely out of her mouth when he gave her arm a swift tug, she tumbled onto the bed, and he wrapped his body around her so tightly that, without the aid of magic, she had no hope of escaping. “Scared,” he mumbled, “don’t leave.” That confession along with the realization that he wasn’t simply feverish, he was absolutely burning up, had her feeling frightened for him.

She sighed. She couldn’t bring herself to stun or otherwise restrain somebody who was obviously so ill, and it seemed cruel to leave him at the moment anyway. She swallowed her pride and called for Delly. Hermione had made it a point to befriend all of the Hogwarts elves since returning to school, but she felt that she had a special bond with the young female.

She appeared immediately, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. “Miss Hermione!”

“Good morning Delly, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Of course not.”

“Draco’s sick and he doesn’t want me to leave him. I know he probably hasn’t been kind to you in the past but I would consider it a personal favor if you would go fetch Madam Pomfrey.”

“Oh! Mr. Draco is not unkind. He is very complimentary, it is Delly’s pleasure to help.”

Hermione blinked back her surprise. “Well thank you then.”

It was approximately five long minutes later when Madam Pomfrey came running into the room. Malfoy spent that time burrowing into her as if he couldn’t get close enough. It wouldn’t have been at all unpleasant if he’d been in his right mind, and not hotter than a furnace. As it was she was worried for him, and even more worried about her inappropriate reaction to his proximity.

The look on the mediwitch’s face when she caught sight of them in addition to the fact that the woman was wearing a bubble head charm only increased that worry.

“I had so hoped Delly was exaggerating the situation out of concern for you,” Madam Pomfrey sighed.

“What do you mean?”

Madam Pomfrey ignored her question and instead posed one of her own: “How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know, he wasn’t waiting to walk me to breakfast so I came to check on him and found him like this, but I just saw him last night and he was fine. He tends to be a bit dramatic so I'm fairly certain that had he been feeling poorly then he would have said something.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. I assume you know what you’re looking at?”

“Dragon pox, right? But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Unfortunately it does. I’ve noticed that you and Mr. Malfoy have become close which means I’ll need to test you for it as well.”

Hermione could only shrug. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to admit that their relationship was a farce, but she and Malfoy had been spending a great deal of time together, and he was physically affectionate with her. Depending on the degree of contagiousness, she was at risk, and it couldn’t hurt to be tested, could it?

“I’m sorry but I shouldn’t do any magic on you until I know, I shouldn’t even do any magic in this room. So I’ll need to do a blood test.”

“Okay,” said Hermione quietly.

She was beginning to suspect there was something much more serious going on here than she’d originally thought and a feeling of foreboding was building within her. But she just struggled within Malfoy’s arms so that she could at least sit up, and watched with interest as the mediwitch removed a kit from her bag. She removed a small knife and a vial of some kind of light blue potion. She then made a small cut on the tip of Hermione’s finger and allowed a drop of blood to drip into the vial. After handing Hermione a piece of gauze to stem the bleeding she corked the vial and shook it; the potion almost immediately changed from light blue to the same sickly green of the boils covering Malfoy’s body and Hermione knew, without needing to be told, that she’d contracted the illness.

“I’m sorry Dear. We need to get you both to the infirmary.”

They had to manually maneuver a very uncooperative Malfoy onto a stretcher, Hermione had to walk beside him the entire time as he refused to release her hand, making the most pitiful noises and muttering various iterations of her name. When they surpassed the main body of the infirmary and entered a corridor marked “Quarantine” she began to get really nervous.

They entered a room with two beds and wrangled Malfoy onto one of them. Then they went to sit side by side on the other.

“Miss Granger- Hermione,” Madam Pomfrey began. “I’m afraid what you’ve contracted is not just Dragon Pox but a particularly aggressive strain of it, one which is known to affect people whose magical channels have been damaged.”

Hermione’s heart sank. “Like me and Draco.”

The mediwitch’s eyes were grave. “Yes, due to the amount of dark magic you were exposed to in the past few years on top of your nutritional issues while you were away from Hogwarts.”

“And his Dark Mark?” She guessed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

“What’s the prognosis?”

“Your survival might be at the expense of your magic.”

Hermione heard loud and clear what she wasn’t saying. ‘If she survived.’

“I’m very sorry. There’s little I can do for you other than make you comfortable, as this illness attacks magic, using any kind of magic on you would be like…”

“Throwing gasoline on a fire,” Hermione nodded in understanding.

“I’m not sure I understand the reference, but it sounds correct. Which is also why you need to be in quarantine, it’s dangerous for you to be exposed to even ambient magic, this room is warded against such a thing for exactly these kinds of illnesses.”

“What can I expect?”

“You will become very feverish, even more so than Mr. Malfoy is at the moment, you may experience hallucinations. That will last perhaps two to three days. Once you make it through that stage it will be like, well my understanding is that the symptoms mimic the muggle flu. Also, the boils will be very painful.”

Hermione nodded. “How long will this last?”

“I expect you to be out of danger and able to come out of quarantine in approximately two weeks. As to your magic, it could be many weeks after that before we know, I wouldn’t dream of having you even attempt to cast for at least a month.”

“Okay,” Hermione let out a shuddering breath and glanced at Malfoy who looked utterly miserable- she was not looking forward to that. “It’s okay for us to stay here together?”

“We have another room like this one, I could take you there. But you’re both of age and you’re not going to be in any state to do anything inappropriate for a long while anyway. But most importantly, isolation isn’t good for healing.”

As if on cue Malfoy let out a pitiful moan. “No, I’ll stay here,” she whispered.

“Any more questions?”

Hermione could only shake her head. Madam Pomfrey grasped her hand briefly and then stood, she walked to the door and turned to face her again. “Hermione, for what it’s worth, you are both strong and determined, and most importantly you’re survivors, I have every faith you’ll make it through this.”

As the door closed behind her, Hermione threw herself onto the hospital bed and wept.

When the screaming started several hours later she briefly regretted that she hadn’t asked for her own room, but she quickly realized that she wouldn’t wish for her worst enemy to suffer this alone- and she certainly no longer counted Malfoy as such. She was gratified that it seemed to calm him somewhat when she held his hand.

She sat with him for as long as she could, while doing her best to ignore the pox appearing on her skin, before her own symptoms became severe enough that she was forced to retreat to bed. And then she fell into her own hell.

It felt like it lasted for eternity. She knew where she was and yet she didn’t. A cool hand on her face, then grasping hers. A voice. “You’re okay, Granger. I know I’m probably the last person you want right now, but I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Safe? What was safe? She just wanted to die.

The agony and the terror retreated very gradually until, suddenly, it was tolerable again.

She blinked her bleary eyes at the sight of a blond head resting against her mattress, and it took her several long minutes to process what she was seeing. Finally she realized that Malfoy was sitting with her. She shifted slightly, testing the limits of her body and his head shot up. His grey eyes met hers, he looked haunted. But then he smiled, and she had the most absurd thought that it was like watching the sun rise.

“Hey. You back with me?” He asked.

“I think so,” she croaked. She winced; her lips were cracked and swollen and her throat felt like it was on fire.

He started to move away and she realized his hands were clasped in hers, she clenched them automatically. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, “just going to pour you some water, you’ll be dehydrated. Madam Pomfrey gave you something called an IV- seemed a little barbaric to me, but clever enough I guess, if you don’t have magic. But anyway, she said you would still need to drink when you woke up.”

Hermione looked around to see that she was, in fact, hooked up to an IV drip. It looked like something from World War II but it was still recognizable as such. Malfoy perched on the edge of her bed. She tried to take the glass of water he was holding but her hands were shaking violently.

“Let me help,” he said gently, so she swallowed her pride and let him help her take several small sips, because at the sight of the water she’d realized she felt like she was dying of thirst.

“How long?” She asked, when she’d had all he would allow her to drink.

“Four days.”

Hermione’s heart sank. Madam Pomfrey had estimated two- three. What did that mean?

Malfoy suddenly hopped up and began to pace. “Merlin, Granger! Don’t do that to me again! I thought I was going to go out of my mind in here with you like that! I never wanted to hear anybody scream like that again!”

Hermione was scared, her body ached, her head was pounding, and her patience snapped.

“Oh well I’m sorry it was so terrible for you Malfoy.”

“You should be!”

“What the hell is the matter with you?! I might lose my magic, or even die and all you can talk about is how scary it was to watch me suffer? I’m only in this ridiculous situation because of you anyway, you selfish prick!”

He abruptly stopped pacing. “Excuse me?”

“You and your ridiculous fake dating-” she made sure to emphasize the second word- “scheme. You got sick first, you gave it to me!”

“Oh please Granger! First of all, don’t act like I purposefully made you ill, you sound foolish. Also, that scheme- as you call it- may have been my idea, but you just couldn’t wait to agree to it.”

“What?” She scoffed. “That’s not true.”

“I expected to have to negotiate with you for days to get you to agree. We’d hardly spoken a civil word to each other in our lives, after all. But then I mentioned that redheaded twat you pretend is your best friend and you got this positively evil look on your face and I knew I had you. Honestly, I was proud of you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that you were willing to pretend to be in a serious relationship with a wizard you despised not even a year ago to get back at that arsehole. And honestly, it’s about time. It’s been downright sad watching you run around trying to get the attention of that waste of magic.”

“I have not, and he isn’t!”

“He is, and what’s worse is that you know it! And Potter’s not much better. I’ll admit we all owe him a great debt for getting rid of the Dark Lord, but other than that he’s pretty useless. And they both take advantage of you! Seriously, did either of them complete a single assignment on their own the whole time they were at Hogwarts? I don’t get it, it’s like they say jump and you just ask how high.”

“Oh you’re one to talk: “Wait until my father hears about this,” she mimicked his pretentious accent. “Has there ever been a single thought in your head that he didn’t put there? It’s pathetic enough that you never learned to think for yourself, but it’s made worse by the fact that the man you chose to emulate is a terrible human being.”

Malfoy went very still. “You don’t know anything about my father.”

In her right mind Hermione would have known better than to say what came out of her mouth next, but she was not in her right mind.

“Oh I know plenty about him, far more than I ever would have wanted to. Certainly enough to know that it’s no wonder you were so eager to line up to kiss Voldemort’s feet,” she hissed.

Malfoy’s expression turned from one of fury to something that was akin to an animal who’d suddenly found itself trapped in a cage. He looked around frantically for a means of escape, but having none, he crossed the room to the attached bathroom, and slammed the door behind him. Hermione closed her eyes in horror at her own malicious words.

They spent a very long two days not speaking. Hermione tried apologizing a couple of times but he wouldn’t hear it and she was too ashamed of herself to make more of an effort. Because what Malfoy had said had been out of line, and certainly not kind, but her response had been beyond cruel. It didn’t help that she suspected there was some truth to his words that she’d been avoiding admitting to herself for years which had provoked her.

On the evening of the second day Malfoy suddenly spoke. “My grandfather died of dragon pox.”

Hermione frowned, uncertain as to how to respond. “I’m sorry?” She finally said.

He snorted. “I’m not looking for your condolences. I was just thinking that maybe this is my fate.”

She shifted to face him. “No, Malfoy, he was probably just old. You’re young and strong, even with your current magical handicap, you can beat this.”

“Please call me Draco,” he said quietly.

She could only guess as to why, but she could tell this was important to him. “Draco,” she corrected, matching his soft tone.

He nodded and continued. “And he wasn’t. He did, however, have a Dark Mark.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So you think this is what, karma?”

“You weren’t wrong, you know, I was eager to join Him. I didn’t really have any idea what I was getting into, but still, I was eager because my father spent my childhood filling my head with stories about the glorious days before Potter vanquished the Dark Lord. And also because I wanted to avenge him after what happened at the Ministry,” he laughed bitterly.

“It’s natural for a child to admire their parents, and emulate their views.”

He cut his eyes in her direction. “Where’s that sharp tongue from the other day? I’m not looking to be patronized.”

She sighed. “You were a terrible little boy. I loathed you, and I think that I had reason to. But I also envied you, and some of that old jealousy, on top of the old hatred came out the other day.”

“I would not have thought that. I know plenty of people envied me, but not you.”

“You were confident in your place in this world, admired for it, even if I didn’t think you deserved it, that was still all I’d ever really wanted. I love Harry and Ron but I did latch onto them because they seemed to need me and I thought that meant I couldn’t be easily discarded. The Weasleys practically adopted Harry and I thought they might do the same to me eventually, but that was never going to work out.”

Draco snorted.

“Be nice.”

“When it comes down to it, I don’t actually know that much about the Weasley family. But Ron Weasley is a simple wizard, and you are anything but. You were always going to be bored by him and he was always going to be threatened by you. Simplicity isn’t necessarily a bad thing but he also has an inferiority complex, and it’s absolutely infuriating how he’s tried to subjugate you to make himself feel better.”

She thought about that. “Why did you ask me to be the one you were pretending to court? As you’ve said, there were other witches who would have been easier to convince and it would still have accomplished your goals.”

He laughed. “Ironically, because I thought you were the one who would best demonstrate I was trying to step out from my father’s shadow.”

She looked at him incredulously.

“I didn’t think of it in exactly that way, of course, but that was the idea. My whole life I’ve done what I was told and believed what I was taught without question. During the war I decided there were things that I wanted to do with my life which weren’t necessarily in the plan for the Malfoy scion.”

“Oh,” she gasped as understanding set in, “that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You wanted the opportunity to make your own choices. That’s why you were willing to go to all this trouble to avoid getting harangued into a marriage.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice gruff. “I actually made a list of things I wanted to do. It was something tangible to hold on to, and I did. When I survived the final battle and then was only given probation I thought I’d made it through the worst of things.” He sighed. “I never thought I could live without magic, now I just want to live.”

Hermione stared at the ceiling for the longest time. “I’m not sure I can say the same, I don’t know what I would do without my magic. That probably makes me a terrible hypocrite but…”

He moved so fast that if Hermione hadn’t known better she would have thought he apparated, but suddenly he was seated on the edge of her mattress. “Absolutely not.” He rummaged through the drawer of the table between their beds until he found some parchment and a quill, he pressed them into her hands. “Write your own list,” he insisted. “It’ll help. Plus, if I lose my magic I need you around to teach me how to survive, so you can’t give up.”

She just gazed at him for the longest time, he never looked away.

“Please Hermione,” he whispered “we’ll do this together, whatever ‘this’ ends up being.”

Finally, she nodded. “Okay, and I’ll continue to be your fake girlfriend to give you time to figure out how to tell your parents the truth.”

He shrugged sheepishly, but nodded in return.

“Wait a second,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “What exactly is in it for me in all of this?”

He just shrugged again but his eyes were full of an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “I’ll think of something.”

* * *

“Oh Merlin!” Draco fell over, knocking the pieces of the board game situated between them all over the place.

“Draco!”

“I’m sorry, but can you blame me? You just told me that you turned yourself partially into a cat, for weeks!” He crowed.

“The polyjuice was perfect,” she responded primly.

He outright guffawed, clutching his sides. “Hermione! You’re fantastic, I’m downright put out that we haven’t been friends all this time.”

Hermione gasped dramatically and looked up at the ceiling. “Draco is put out! Draco is put out! Did you hear that universe?! You must repair this travesty!”

He laughed harder. She just smiled at him, never in a million years would she have thought he was capable of having a laugh at his own expense. He finally calmed down and wiped his eyes.

“Seriously though, it’s a shame. You think you caused trouble with Potter and Weasley, can you imagine what the pair of us could have wreaked? I maintain that you were missorted, you would have made a bad arse Slytherin.”

“High praise, Mr. Malfoy,” she said as she tried to put their game back together. Instead of laughing it off like she expected, he reached over and placed a finger under her chin, forcing her to lift her head until she was looking him in the eye.

“I meant it.”

And if Hermione was one of those witches prone to romantic exaggeration she would have said that her heart skipped a beat at the soft expression on his face.

She cleared her throat. “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Better late than never.”

“Of course we are.”

“And when we get out of here we’re going to be the best fake couple that ever existed. The couple that overcame a war and a deadly illness to be together. We’ll be so disgustingly perfect your parents won’t be able to say a word against us.”

He gave her a strange look but nodded. “Right.”

* * *

Hermione woke up in the middle of a panic attack, she felt like she was drowning. Draco was already wrapped around her.

“That’s my girl. Take a deep breath. I know it feels like you can’t, but you can.”

She followed his instructions.

“Now concentrate on me, feel me breathe, follow me.”

Again she did as she was told.

“That’s it, love. Now relax, I’ve got you.”

Her body, which had felt like it was in freefall resisted her brain’s command, but she eventually accomplished it. And, just as he promised, he had her.

“Hey Draco?” She asked when she could speak again.

“Yeah,” he murmured sleepily, nuzzling her neck.

She shivered. “Um, I was just wondering if you would tell me about some of the things on your list.”

“List?”

“The one you made of things you want to do before you die?”

“Oh,” he shifted, moving his hand from her hip and wrapping his arm all the way around her waist, clearly settling in. “Just, you know, normal things.”

“Like?”

“Attend every World Cup final for the next century, shag a witch on every continent, own a dragon-“

She huffed at his predictability. “Well of course you would want to-” and then his statement fully set in. “Did you just say ‘own a dragon?!’”

She felt him shrug. “It’s my namesake, seems appropriate. And how cool would that be?”

“How would that even work?! Not to mention it’s illegal!”

“Only in certain countries.”

“You have seriously questionable morals,” she groaned. “If you have any at all.”

“Well if that isn’t just the cauldron calling the kettle black.”

“Excuse me?”

“Robbed any banks lately, Hermione? Kept any more human beings in jars?”

His fingers danced up her sides, making her squirm and giggle. “Draco! Stop! I don’t know why I even talk to you.”

“You love me, really.”

Hermione swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat but didn’t respond and they settled back together.

“Become a father,” he said quietly, when she was nearly asleep.

“What?”

“That’s another item on my list, my number two actually.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

She contemplated this. “I am, but that’s not a bad thing. Can I assume that’s another reason you’re looking to avoid a pseudo-arranged marriage?”

“Yeah, my parents have many flaws. I’m not blind to them. But they do love each other, and I was raised watching that, I want at least as much for my own children.”

“As you should,” she smiled to herself. “Will you tell me what your number one is?”

“Maybe...someday.”

* * *

If the length of her initial fever hadn’t been enough indication, it soon became readily apparent that Hermione’s case was more severe than Draco’s. Her fever spiked more often, she experienced headaches that made it impossible for her to move from her bed, and despite how badly she needed the calories she had a very difficult time eating, much less keeping down a full meal.

She did improve, but it was in fits and starts. His improvement was much more steady. She wanted to be mad at him for it, and occasionally, in her frustration, she was, but he remained her rock.

When, two weeks in, Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave, he absolutely refused to go. He had already been sick, he was in no danger of catching anything from her. He was absolutely capable of self study and he wouldn’t be allowed to perform magic in class anyway. And, most importantly, he wasn’t leaving her alone.

The matron uttered not a single protest to his arguments, in fact she looked rather proud of him. Hermione also couldn’t bring herself to protest, but she did worry.

Draco had become important, almost vital to her. She was on her way to recovery, and unless she had a severe setback she was considered to be out of danger. She should have been grateful. But now she worried that should Draco retain his magic and she lose hers, that she would also lose him. And she was certain she would lose any chance of a true relationship with him. If she had any chance in the first place.

It made her feel rather pathetic, and that made her surly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Four days after Draco’s release she had finally been discharged from the infirmary and they were making their way back to their rooms, hand in hand.

“Nothing.”

He snorted. “Tell that to somebody who hasn’t spent 24 hours a day with you for the better part of a month.”

“I guess I’m just concerned, I fought hard for my magic, to lose it now…” she trailed off, telling him the truth without telling him the whole truth.

He blew out a breath and squeezed her hand. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“I’m sure it’s just as difficult for you, just in a different way.”

He was quiet until they reached her room and then he followed her in without waiting for an invitation. He threw himself onto her bed. “I thought we decided we were in this together?”

“What if one of us loses their magic and the other doesn’t?”

He looked at her evenly. “I thought we decided we were in this together?” He repeated. “We’ll figure it out.”

She blinked at him, he looked completely sincere. Something settled within her. “Okay,” she responded eventually.

He nodded and let his head fall against her pillows while he kicked off his shoes. “Can I sleep here tonight? I’m not used to being alone.”

Hermione looked at him lounging on her bed like he belonged there. “Sure.”

* * *

Hermione examined her reflection in the mirror critically. She’d lost a lot of the weight that she’d gained back after the war during her infirmity. Still, she thought she looked nice in a strapless black gown, even if her curves weren’t quite what she would have hoped.

She and Draco were attending the Ministry’s Valentine’s Day Ball. (The Ministry had held more events in the past year than, Hermione suspected, they had in the previous ten in an attempt to restore the public’s morale). Normally she would have been looking for any excuse to avoid such an event but after nearly three weeks confined to one room, they were both desperate to get the hell out of Hogwarts and even as overage students they weren’t allowed to go traipsing about the country whenever they liked. However, an exception was made for a Ministry sponsored event, especially considering both of their high profile positions in society and they were taking full advantage of the privilege.

Also, they had decided it was appropriate to make their public debut as a couple on a holiday which revolved around lovers. They’d been featured in the papers already, of course, but appearing at a big gala would make a different kind of splash.

When she heard the knock at her door she took one last glance at the bouquet of roses which had been delivered to her at breakfast and was situated on her desk, and smiled to herself. She should probably scold him for going so over the top, but she wouldn’t.

She opened the door and Draco actually rocked back on his heels as he perused her form. “Hi gorgeous,” he greeted her with a husky whisper.

“Thanks,” she smoothed her gown as she did her own perusal. He’d foregone his usual black robes for a grey which matched his eyes and made him look much more approachable. “You look very handsome as well.”

“Of course I do,” he winked.

She rolled her eyes.

He offered her his arm and they made their way to the Headmistress’ office where they would floo to the Ministry. When they entered the atrium it was a lot like that first morning at Hogwarts as the entire place went silent almost immediately. But then there was a ruckus and Hermione searched the space to see Harry and Ron sprinting across the room towards her.

Ron, with his longer legs, reached her first. He all but wrenched her away from Draco, pulled her flush against him and planted his lips on hers. Wandless and physically overpowered, Hermione had rarely felt more helpless. It could only have been a matter of seconds that she struggled against him before he pulled back to murmur: “Thank Godric you’re okay.”

She took that opportunity to all but shriek: “Stop!”

That got his attention and she stumbled backwards, falling almost immediately into Draco’s arms. She was wiping frantically at her mouth and he handed her a handkerchief. Harry had a hold of Ron and was looking absolutely furious, but at least it was directed at the correct source.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She demanded. “Actually, I don’t care. I am in a relationship, Ronald! And even if I wasn’t, you don’t get to kiss me without my permission, ever! There’s no excuse!”

For a moment he just gaped. “I was just happy to see you.”

“Oh really? Have you greeted Harry lately by shoving your tongue down his throat?”

Both wizards went beet red at that statement and Harry practically leapt away from Ron. “Of course not!”

“What’s the difference? Why is it okay in your little mind to do it to me?”

“Well, I thought we’d be together now.”

“That would still require my permission,” she insisted, actually stomping her foot a little in frustration. Draco, who was still holding her, soothingly caressed her waist, “But why now, what’s changed?”

“You were so sick…”

She automatically looked back at Draco. “What am I missing here?”

“I think perhaps your recent scare has forced Weasley to see the value in what he so carelessly tossed away and I can only assume he doesn’t think I’m any obstacle in just taking you back.”

He sneered at the other man and, for once, Hermione couldn’t fault him.

“It’s not like that,” Ron growled.

She slumped further against Draco’s chest. “Yes it is. You expected me to just be waiting around for you whenever you decided you were ready. It’s not like this is even the first time.”

“What?”

Her eyes fell closed. “I’m not even sure you did it intentionally, but it’s what happened sixth year, it’s what happened this summer. So let me be very clear: Draco is my choice. He is not a consolation prize I was enjoying while I waited around for you. Moreover, regardless of what happens between me and Draco, this,” she pointed between herself and Ron, “is never going to happen. Now, I’m going to try and go enjoy the party before we embarrass ourselves further, if that’s even possible. ” She took Draco’s hand and started to lead him away.

“I’ll talk to you later, Harry,” she threw over her shoulder, he didn’t attempt to argue.

Despite the inauspicious beginning, it ended up being a nice evening. They were gawked at, but she was used to that. She spoke to a bunch of people who looked at her like they didn’t understand her, but she was used to that too. However, the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shackelbolt, despite being somewhat of a friend, courted her like she was royalty, practically begging her to take up a position in the Ministry when she finished Hogwarts. She took an untold amount of pleasure in informing him that there were things she wanted to do before she settled into a career.

In fact, she had a list.

“A list, you say,” Draco muttered into her ear when he finally got the opportunity to take her into his arms for a dance.

“Yes. To give me something to look forward to, to remind me that I have choices in the direction in which my life takes. A friend suggested it to me.”

“A friend?”

“Yes, a very good friend,” she absently played with the hair at the base of his neck.

“And what would you say to helping this friend with his own list?”

She answered without hesitation. “I’d be honored.”

He kissed her cheek and led her to the edge of the dance floor. “I wasn’t sure I’d be brave enough to do this. Ironically, Weasley helped with that.”

“Oh?”

He removed a piece of parchment from the inside breast pocket of his robes. “You didn’t know it, but you already helped me with the original first item on my list.”

“Oh?” She repeated.

“I have a new number one, but this time I need your agreement to fulfill it.”

He handed her the parchment and, after taking a deep breath she unfolded it. Sure enough, the first item had been neatly crossed off: _Fall in Love_.

Her breath hitched and she looked at the addition beside it.

_Make it Real_.

She could only stare at it until she felt him shift uneasily beside her. She cleared her throat and peered up at him. “Did you plan this?”

“What?”

“Was this pretend relationship situation some kind of elaborate ruse to, I don’t know, win me?” As soon as the words left her mouth her eyes fell shut in mortification. “Damn it, forget I just said that, how conceited can I be?”

He just chuckled and drew her closer so that he could speak directly into her ear. “I haven’t lied to you through any of this. I thought you were interesting and beautiful. I thought the two of us together would make a statement. I thought that of all the witches I could even think of that you were the one I might be able to spend a few weeks or months with, without being completely bored. But I’m not so insightful as to realize that I could fall in love with you, at least not consciously. I wish I was.”

“Draco,” she gasped.

“I had to bloody well near die- again- to realize that. I fell in love with your snark, and your sass, and your inability to just shut the hell up. I fell in love with you over muggle board games and during fevered rants, and conversations I truly never wanted to have. I couldn’t help myself. But you can be surprisingly hard to read when you want to be, I wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Then, tonight, you went and told Weasley that I was your choice. Am I completely misinterpreting this?”

She could only stare at him before she finally raised her hand and splayed it over his heart. “You aren’t.” But then she smirked, “however, for clarification, in this hypothetical future scenario, we’re together and I’m the witch you’re shagging on every continent, right?”

He let out a whoosh of a breath. “Of course. Hell, love, if you agree to be mine I’ll take you on a world tour of libraries and we’ll shag in all of those. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” She arched one eyebrow at him.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Salazar save me but you keep me on my feet,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Well maybe not whatever. I have limits- I think.”

She wrinkled her nose as she huddled against him and considered the list that she was actually seeing for the first time. “I’m perfectly happy for you to attend as many World Cup finals as you want, but perhaps sometimes you would be content to take some friends and leave me at home.”

“Perfectly acceptable, possibly even preferable” he smiled, and she snorted, but then he hesitated. “What about fatherhood? I’m not sure that’s something I want to negotiate, love.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I would love to make you a father...in a few years.”

“Well naturally, it would be irresponsible of us to leave them behind while we’re shagging our way around the libraries of the world, so we’ll have to get a head start on that first.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

“Do we have an accord?”

He was leaning in, his lips just about to brush hers when she said: “But the dragon is a hard no.”

“What!” He practically yelped, if everybody around them hadn’t already been watching, that would have drawn some attention. “That’s your line?”

“Yes, you crazy person. I don’t care how much money you have. Owning a wild, dangerous, untameable beast is my bloody line.”

He smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, despite your name you are none of those things.”

He seemed to consider that. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. Okay,” he sighed dramatically and seemed to reconsider his options. “What if I bought a dragon preserve?”

That gave her pause, which he jumped all over.

“Yes! A preserve in need of a benefactor, one that’s going to close down unless we come rescue it! That way you can do your do-gooding thing and I can have my dragons!” He jostled her playfully in his arms. “Come on Hermione, we can take in injured animals with no place else to go and- oh! Little baby orphans! You can’t possibly say ‘no’ to helpless babies.”

He looked at her, his eyes full of hope, and mirth, and an expression she couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized before now: love. The word was out of her mouth before she even needed to think about it: “Deal.”


End file.
